Page 125 of Fierce Pursuit

“Beg,moy zaichonok.” His voice was dark, filled with wicked command as he scraped his teeth over my nipple, biting down just enough that I jolted with the delicious pain, my body instantly betraying me.

“Kostya, we can’t,” I gasped, the words barely a whisper. It was the last thread of my resistance, a feebleattempt at sanity, even though every cell in my body burned for him.

“We can. And we will.” His lips brushed over my throat, his breath hot and heavy, promising sin. “But I need to hear you beg for my cock. Beg me to fuck you the way only I can.”

“Kostya, please.” The plea escaped before I could stop it, before I even knew what I was asking for.

My body needed him. My heart called for him.

But my mind…my mind knew this was a mistake.

He exhaled a dark chuckle against my skin. “Shh, babygirl. I have you. I will always have you.”

I didn’t know what was more terrifying, the way his words felt like a promise, or the way I wanted to believe them.

My leg wrapped around his hips, a silent surrender, and I felt him line up against my entrance, thick and throbbing, poised to ruin me completely.

“Kostya, we shouldn’t?—”

My protest died in my throat as he thrust inside me, stretching me beyond what I thought possible, forcing my body to take all of him.

And God help me, I did.

The sharp sting of him stretching me, filling me, forced a tear to slip from the corner of my eye as he buried himself to the hilt. God, he was so big, and this angle, this ruthless, unrelenting claim, pushed him deeper than I thought was physically possible.

“Kostya, we can’t,” I tried to argue, my voice barely there, a futile attempt at resistance. My hands pressedagainst his shoulders, trying, pretending to push him away.

He silenced me with his mouth.

His lips crushed against mine, devouring my protest, turning my resistance into nothing but a muffled moan. His kiss tasted like him, dark, warm, spicy, but now, mingled with the taste of me on his tongue, it went straight to my head. Intoxicating, dizzying, breaking me down from the inside out.

He grabbed my hands, lacing his fingers through mine and pinned them above my head against the sheets.

A quiet act of dominance.

A warning.

Then he rocked his hips.

Slow. Deep. Claiming me.

His cock forced my body to accommodate him, and I had no choice but to surrender. I melted into him, let his thrusts wring more pleasure from my exhausted body, let his kiss soothe something even deeper.

Giving in to him wasn’t just pleasure. It was my purpose.

It made me feel whole. Like I had finally found where I was meant to be, who I was meant to be. Like I was made to be the woman Kostya lost himself in. Like he was made to be the man who took me, who owned me, who protected me.

"Moy zaichonok,” he growled against my lips. “I could spend my life between your thighs. Your sweet pussy is milking my cock, begging for my seed.”

Something snapped through the haze of pleasure.

Panic.

Cold, sharp fear sliced through the molten heat in my veins, dragging me back to reality.

“No, Kostya, you can’t.”

He let out a dark chuckle, something sinister and knowing. “You keep telling me what I can and can’t do.” He punctuated his words with a brutal thrust, so deep my eyes rolled back. “I have to admit, I enjoy proving you wrong.”

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